Of Perfumes and Point Getting
by She's a Star
Summary: '". . . And that perfume was really unusual, Ron." "No problem," said Ron.' How, exactly, did Ron come to give Hermione perfume for Christmas? Observe. (Set during OotP - minor spoilers.)


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Of Perfumes and Point-Getting

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by She's a Star

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Who is a goddess - a cruel, cruel goddess who kills poor, innocent characters who should not die, but a goddess nonetheless.

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Author's Note: Well, I read OotP yesterday, and here's my first OotP-canon-based fanfic. I was desperate to try out canon!Ginny (who, may I state, kicks socks?) _and_ I found it really adorable that Ron got Hermione perfume for Christmas, so I decided to do a bit of a background story on it. This takes place during the Christmas holidays at Number 12 Grimmauld Place during book 5. Enjoy. :-)

*

Ron Weasley hated Christmas gifts.

Well (he mused), Perhaps that wasn't entirely true. After all, he couldn't deny that he liked to receive presents himself, and buying them for his family and Harry wasn't at all hard work.

Maybe that statement needed rephrasing.

Ron Weasley hated getting Hermione Christmas gifts.

It hadn't been much of a problem before - he'd just given her candy or school stuff; things like that. But now he wasn't sure he could do that anymore. Things felt _different_ around Hermione, and he knew (though he wasn't quite sure _how_ he knew) that a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans simply wasn't going to cut it anymore.

But what on earth were you supposed to get for . . . a _girl_?

Because she was definitely a girl. He'd finally made that discovery last year, and it had been coming more and more clear to him ever since. Because really, she wasn't _just_ a girl. Nope. She was a girl that he kinda-sorta-maybe-fancied-a-bit. She was a girl who'd kissed him on the cheek before his first Quidditch match. 

She was also a girl who wrote gigantic letters to that ruddy Bulgarian git, Viktor bloody Krum, but he was trying not to think about that.

But the thing was, he wasn't quite sure that Hermione kinda-sorta-maybe-fancied _him_ a bit, too.

Sure, it kinda seemed like it sometimes - like when they'd met that summer at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place and she'd hugged him for a bit longer than usual (not that he'd minded), and when she'd kissed him on the cheek before the Quidditch match and again during a D.A. meeting when they'd been standing under mistletoe, and when she'd gotten all irritable after Harry had kissed Cho and said something about Ron being 'the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet'.

Which, he thought, had been a little unfair. After all, if it had been _him_ kissing _her_, he would have certainly reacted to the situation differently.

But Hermione didn't seem to know these things. (Perhaps because she was too busy writing to that damned Krum to figure them out.)

So now Ron was arguing rather fiercely with himself over whether he should somehow tell her. The year before, he wouldn't have even considered it (then again, the year before he hadn't exactly figured it out yet) but now things were different. Harry was off snogging gorgeous older Ravenclaw girls; _he'd_ been brave enough to do something about Cho. Why couldn't Ron do the same for Hermione? He _was_ in Gryffindor for a reason, after all.

But then again, no opportunity seemed _right_ to suddenly sweep Hermione into his arms and kiss her, or whatever it was Harry had done. He couldn't very well grab her in the middle of a Prefect's Meeting in front of Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, and _McGonagall_, could he?

Exactly.

There was no way he would ever kiss _anyone_ in front of McGonagall.

. . . And probably, he thought irritably, no way he'd ever kiss anyone at all if he didn't get around to doing something about Hermione.

Which came back to the Christmas gift.

Should he do something romantic? Ron wasn't exactly sure that he could manage 'romantic'. Or something even vaguely resembling 'romantic'. With his siblings around (particularly Ginny, who had an obsession with reminding him that he was . . . er . . . _interested_ in Hermione at random, frequently inconvenient times. _'Come _on_, Ron, it's so painfully obvious! Just ask her out already!'_) constantly, there was no way that 'romantic' could be pulled off successfully.

Maybe he just wouldn't attempt it. It'd be safer.

But no! He was a Gryffindor! A Gryffindor _prefect_, no less! (Which, he supposed, was pretty irrelevant, but it just sounded more imposing.) He could do this!

But what the bloody hell were you supposed to get the girl you kinda-sorta-maybe-fancied-a-bit for Christmas?

He was tempted to ask Harry, but knew he was rather preoccupied, what with Cho kissing him and thinking he was possessed by Voldemort and Ginny snapping at him left and right. 

Besides, he'd have felt rather stupid. After all, he reckoned he was the only Gryffindor boy in their year (besides Neville) who hadn't kissed anyone before. He hadn't let this knowledge spread, obviously, but _still_. They all seemed to assume that Ron and Hermione had something 'going on' (no doubt because they'd heard it from Lavender and Parvati), and Ron simply hadn't bothered to correct them. It wasn't a crime, was it?

But that didn't mean that he didn't want their assumptions to remain untrue.

And it all came back to this stupid Christmas present.

He was tempted to ask Ginny - after all, even if she _was_ his sister, Ginny was a girl, and probably knew something about what girls would like for Christmas. But at the same time, he didn't think he'd be able to bear her perpetually teasing him. With his luck, she'd remember that stupid song she'd made up years ago when he'd finished his first year of school and made the mistake of talking about Hermione too much.

__

Ronnie and Hermione

Oh, they're just sweet as can be

He talks about her non-stop

I really wish that he'd shut up!

No way would he dare to inspire a repeat performance. Knowing his luck, Harry would come in right in the middle of it. Or better yet, Hermione would turn up randomly even though she was supposed to be skiing (he still couldn't help but laugh hysterically at the idea of Hermione sliding down a mountain with two long boards stuck to her feet) just in time to witness it. Knowing his sister, Ginny would probably even throw in an intricately-choreographed tap-dancing number to match.

All right.

That meant no Ginny, then.

However, the fates seemed to be against him (or so would have claimed Professor Trelawney, anyway), as at the very moment the door swung open and his darling baby sister flounced in.

"Hey, Ron," she said, sinking down onto Harry's bed and wrapping her arms around her knees.

"Get out," he returned automatically. After all, he was faced with a very pressing dilemma that Ginny could have absolutely no say in - she couldn't very well come barging in whenever she liked.

"Where's Harry?" 

"Funny that you should care," Ron spat, "What with your new boyfriend _Michael_ and all."

"Oh, come off it, Ron!" Ginny snapped. "I was just asking because I thought I heard you talking to someone."

"He's with Sirius," Ron said. "And I wasn't talking to anyone."

Sure, he may have mumbled a few things out loud, but Ginny didn't need to know that.

"Really?" Ginny asked, her brown eyes sparkling mischievously. "Because I distinctly heard the words 'Hermione', 'Christmas gift', and 'kiss'."

"Yeah right," Ron returned bitterly. "How could you 'distinctly hear' anything? You weren't even in here."

Grinning, Ginny reached behind her and displayed with flourish one of Fred and George's Extendible Ears.

"I hate those things," Ron spat.

"So," Ginny continued, still beaming. "Having trouble picking out a gift for Hermione, are we? There, there. Auntie Ginny can help."

"Bugger off," Ron instructed in frustration. "And for the record, the idea of you being my aunt _and_ my sister is really disgusting."

"I wouldn't be so _snappish_, Ronniekins," she chided, her voice still sugary sweet. "It's obvious you need my help here."

"I do not!"

Ginny arched an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, so maybe I do," Ron admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to ask for it!"

"Fine," Ginny said, and rolled her eyes. "It seems no one ever values my advice."

"Yeah, that's about right," Ron replied. "So sod off, will you?"

"No way in hell," Ginny replied, demurely fluttering her lashes.

"You're so bloody annoying," accused Ron angrily. "Why can't you go back to fancying Harry again? At least you were quiet back then."

"Yeah, well I also had a frequent habit of dropping my breakfast on the floor and putting my elbows into butterdishes," Ginny said back rather sharply. "I didn't really enjoy that."

"Why?"

"Ron, he thought I was a complete idiot."

"No he didn't," replied Ron earnestly. "Or I don't think so, anyway. He never said anything bad about it, and he snapped at Fred and George when they were making fun of that awful poem of yours."

Ginny was silent, with an odd expression on her face.

"Oh well," she said finally. "I don't care anymore. That's over with. I should go write to Michael."

She rose from the bed and had almost exited the room when Ron cried, in a rather pained sort of way, "_Wait_!"

She paused.

Okay. So he _was_ going to ask her for help. He was desperate. He had no choice. But that didn't mean that he was going to like it.

"Ginny, what should I get Hermione for Christmas?"

Ginny grinned. "That's more like it."

She sat back down, this time next to Ron, and a very sweet, strong scent immediately filled his nose.

"What's that smell?" he demanded.

"Perfume," Ginny replied promptly. "Michael sent it to me."

. . . Hmm.

"Perfume?" Ron repeated.

"No, Ron, I made it up," Ginny said sarcastically.

"Shut up," Ron commanded. "So . . . did you like getting perfume?"

Ginny nodded, looking a bit taken aback. "Yes. I thought it was sweet of him."

"And . . . one of your guy friends wouldn't just give you perfume, would they?" Ron continued slowly. "Like . . . say, Colin Creevey?"

"No," Ginny said, frowning in confusion. "It's more of a romantic thing - Oh!" Realization dawned, and her eyes began to sparkle.

Ron felt his ears go red.

"Soooo," Ginny said, a rather devious grin blossoming on her face. "You want to get your beloved Hermione something romantic. Something like . . . say . . . perfume?"

"She's _not_ my beloved Hermione!" Ron snapped irritably.

"Oh, please, Ron," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "I saw her kiss you before your Quidditch match. Your eyes went all glassed over and you wouldn't stop touching your cheek."

"Ginny, if you don't get out right now--"

"_And_ when you two were caught under the mistletoe at the last D.A. meeting, and she kissed you again and your ears went all red," Ginny continued in an annoying, sing-songy voice.

"_Ginny_, I'm going to hex you so bad--"

"You're forgetting," Ginny cut in with a dangerous nonchalance, "dear Ronniekins, that _I_ am the Bat-Bogey Hex Queen in this family."

Ron fell silent.

"That's better," Ginny grinned. Ron scowled at her. "So, you fancy Hermione."

He resisted the urge to growl 'shut up' and instead merely fixed her with a death glare.

"Please, Ron, don't pretend to be clueless. _Everyone_ can tell."

"Wh . . . what do you _mean_, everyone?" Ron sputtered.

"Well, that fight you had after the Yule Ball last year wasn't exactly quiet," Ginny replied. "And we Gryffindors aren't idiots - well, not most of us, anyway," she added with a smirk. "_We_ could figure out what 'next time there's a ball, don't ask me as a last resort' means, even if _you_ couldn't."

"I bloody well know what she meant," Ron said angrily. "And it was 'next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does and not as a last resort'."

"Remembering her every word now, are we?" Ginny inquired.

Ron glowered.

"Okay," Ginny said briskly, suddenly all business, and clapped her hands together. "So you want a Christmas present for Hermione."

"Spot-on, Ginny. You're a genius, really."

"Oh, shut up. And you want to get her something more than the average box of candy."

While thinking these things they hadn't bugged him, hearing Ginny say them out loud made Ron's ears feel uncomfortably warm.

"So," Ginny continued. "You want to get her something like . . . perfume."  
"Guess so," Ron mumbled, staring at his feet. (There was a hole in the big toe of one of his socks.)

"All right, then," said Ginny. "Sounds simple enough. We can make some for her, then."

"Make perfume?" Ron repeated.

"Well, obviously," Ginny said. "It's really easy; we can find the recipe in one of Mum's potion books. Michael made mine."

"The cheap old bloke didn't even bother to buy you anything?" Ron asked incredulously.

Ginny flashed him a glare very reminiscent of their mother's. "I think it's _sweet_."

"Oh, yeah, really sweet," Ron muttered. "To the point where it makes your head throb."

"Do you want me to help you or not?" Ginny asked. "After all, you're not exactly good at Potions."

"Fine, fine, _fine_," Ron said. "Fine. I'll shut up about that prat of a boyfriend of yours." (Ginny glared.) "Just help me."

*

Upon arriving in the kitchen, they found Harry, Lupin, and Sirius pulling a pan of what looked like little round pieces of coal out of the oven.

"Shall we try again?" Sirius asked, staring rather dejectedly at what Ron guessed were supposed to be cookies.

"I think so," Lupin said. Harry nodded in agreement, laughing.

"I'm sorry, Padfoot my friend," Lupin continued, "But you just can't cook."

"I'm insulted," Sirius announced, his eyes twinkling merrily. "What kind of lousy Christmas spirit is that, Moony?"

He then proceeded to pelt the charred cookies at Lupin, who kept shooting red sparks with his wand at Sirius in retaliation.

"I don't think they ever grew up properly," Harry announced, a grin on his face as he watched them.

"It's cute," Ginny proclaimed.

"Dammit, Harry, why can't you bake the cookies right?" Ron asked. "Now I want some."

Ginny and Harry exchanged a look before simultaneously rolling their eyes.

"What're you guys doing down here?" Harry asked, dodging a blast of red and gold sparks and then moving aside as Lupin sped out of the room, Sirius still hurling cookies as he ran after him. 

"In case you can't tell," Harry finished, "It's a bit of a disaster area."

"Well," Ginny said, "You see, Ron wants to--"

Ron promptly slammed his foot down on top of his sister's.

"Ouch! What?" Ginny demanded angrily. "You mean you're not going to tell Harry?"

"Not going to tell me what?" Harry asked curiously.

"Nothing at all," Ron said through clenched teeth. "Right, Ginny?"

"Sure, fine, whatever," Ginny said, still rather irritated. "Step on my foot again and I'm hexing you."

Harry blinked.

Ron tried desperately to look casual.

Ginny smirked.

"Harry! HARRY!" came Sirius' voice laughingly from the dining room. "Help! He's going to kill me! This oversized wolf is going to kill me!"

Harry smiled. "Okay, I'd better go save Sirius. Have . . . fun, guys." 

He fixed them with one last puzzled glance before leaving the room, shouting, "I'm coming!"

Ron and Ginny exchanged a glance.

"Okay then," Ginny said, stepping tentatively over a few black cookies. "The coast is clear. Let's get to work."

*

"So," Ron said an hour and a half later, proudly surveying his work. "What do you think?"

Ginny dipped a spoon into the cauldron of potion and lifted it uneasily to her nose. This was their fourth attempt, and it was safe to say that the past three hadn't improved at all. (Well . . . perhaps a bit. Smelling the first one had made her faint - luckily, Harry had been in the room at that time to inquire after what they were doing, and he caught her before a potentially painful collision with the floor.) 

She took a deep breath and then sniffed it. Immediately, a strong, citrus-y scent filled her nose. It smelled like a cross between oranges, grapefruits, and . . . roses. (Ron had insisted upon roses, as they were Hermione's favorite flower.)

"It's . . . interesting, Ron," Ginny said, smiling weakly.

She wasn't sure she'd ever seen her brother this triumphant before.

"You didn't faint this time!" he announced ecstatically. "Or even go cross-eyed!"

"Good job," Ginny praised, still donning a very forced grin.

"So, what do you think?"

"It . . . smells like oranges."

"I know," Ron said proudly, beaming. "They're Hermione's favorite fruit."

"How . . . sweet," Ginny replied uneasily. "So . . . now I guess all you need to do is bottle it."

"Excellent!" Ron said excitedly, and offered her a small, chipped glass bottle. "This was all I could find."

"You might want something more fancy than that," Ginny replied delicately. "Here, let me transfigure it for you."

She placed the bottle on the counter and tapped her wand against it - it immediately shifted into a pink bottle with sparkling black swirls all over it. 

"Thanks, Gin!" said Ron, grinning. "That's fabulous! Perfect! I can't wait to see what Hermione says."

"Neither . . . can I," Ginny replied weakly.

*

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After Hermione's Arrival at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place . . .

*

"Hermione!" Ginny hissed insistently, grabbing her friend's arm as soon as Ron and Harry left the drawing room to go try to find some butterbeer downstairs.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking surprised. "Is there something you didn't tell Harry about what happened with the snake? He isn't possessed, is he? He can't be. You were telling the truth, right?"

"Yes, yes, yes," Ginny said hurriedly, waving a hand in an attempt to banish the matter as soon as possible. She felt a bit bad treating the situation trivially when it was obvious that Harry had been incredibly worried about being 'possessed by the Dark Lord', and had finally started smiling again after a day of miserable silence. 

But this was urgent.

"I have to tell you something," continued Ginny. Hermione's eyes were wide with anxiety. "About Ron."

Hermione seemed to relax a little, but her cheeks flushed. "Yes?"

"His Christmas present for you," Ginny said urgently. "It's . . . odd. Kind of disgusting, really. But he slaved away on it and he's so proud and I think he really wants to impress you, and--"

Hermione was definitely red now. "Um . . . what's he done?"

"I don't want to give away the surprise," Ginny said, a bit awkwardly. "But just . . . don't be mean about it, okay? Act like you really like it."

"Okay," Hermione said, still looking bewildered. "Of course I will."

"All right," Ginny said, sighing in relief. She could hear the boys coming back up the stairs, the sounds of laughter and clinking butterbeer bottles mingling.

"Ginny," whispered Hermione, "What's this all about, anyway?"

"I think," Ginny whispered back, grinning, "That Ron's finally getting the point."

Hermione's blushing became even more pronounced, and she seemed to be holding back a smile as Ron and Harry joined them again.

"Here you go," Ron said, handing her a butterbeer. Harry offered one to Ginny, who whispered 'thanks' and nodded toward Ron and Hermione. Harry seemed to get the point and watched them, smiling a little.

"Thank you," Hermione said, avoiding his eyes.

"Hey," Ron pointed out, looking a bit perturbed. "You're blushing."

"Am not," Hermione shot back at once.

"You _are_," Ron said, staring at her in worry. "So, have you just had a letter from Vicky, then?"

Ginny cringed. _Ron, you are an idiot._

"No," Hermione said loftily. "As a matter of fact, if I _were_ blushing, it would be about someone else entirely."

Ron's ears went red, and he said in a rather strangled voice, "Well . . . well, then. Well . . . I'm glad you're here, Hermione."

"Me too," Hermione said, smiling. 

They proceeded to return to the dining room, and Harry and Ginny followed them smiling knowingly.

"So," Ron said, "Tell the truth. You came back because you were crap at skiing."

"I was _not_!" Hermione proclaimed heatedly.

"She was too," Harry said in an undertone to Ginny. "She told me."

Ginny laughed.

"You were too!" Ron argued.

"I was _not_! I came because I missed you all!"

"Yeah, right. Admit it, Hermione. You were bad at something. You were bad at skiing."

"Well, maybe I shouldn't have come, then, if you'd rather I was off skiing, _which_, by the way, I'm perfectly good at!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah . . ."

Harry and Ginny rolled their eyes at each other and settled down on the sofa, sipping butterbeer and exchanging conversation about what would happen in the upcoming D.A. meetings.

Ron and Hermione continued to bicker, but in a cheerful, holiday spirit sort of way: a way that made it quite clear that when Ron said, "You can't ski. I bet _I_ could ski better than you, and I'd never even heard of it before!" he meant _'I'm really glad you've come back. It's not the same without you.'_ and when Hermione retorted, "Quit being such a git! I can ski perfectly well! Why do you have to make everything into an argument?" she meant _'Thank God you've finally gotten the point'_.

FIN :-)


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